


Booty Call

by FoxMoriarty



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: PWP without Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25132324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxMoriarty/pseuds/FoxMoriarty
Summary: Clint Barton gets a dick pic from Moon Knight.Making out commences.
Relationships: Marc Spector/Clint Barton
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	Booty Call

**Author's Note:**

> Written for http://www.tumblr.com/archcr

Marc wanted to blame it on Jake.

It was his own self-destructive instinct taken to the extreme. It was one thing to go out at night the way he did, roam the streets in black and white so striking it hurt the eyes to look at. He wanted his enemies to see him coming, to anticipate the pain that would soon become the whole of their lives. He wanted the fear to fill them, to feel the anticipation himself as the truncheon raised high. He could understand that destructive impulse, and the thrill that came with the sound of shattering bone. He couldn't understand this thrill of anticipation, the way his heart rose in his throat.

People weren't supposed to look at him this way. They weren't supposed to touch him the way he was being touched now. So, he wanted to blame it on Jake. It was a foolish move, the text he'd sent. It was lewd and it wasn't like him. It was impulsive and stupid, but the response it had gotten had been neither such thing. Nor was the response he was getting now, breath hot on his throat and the calloused hand splayed flat on his belly. This response wasn't expected, and it made no sense.

He bared his teeth for a moment as he felt the press of lips against his pulse. They were dry, and the scrape of facial hair against his skin was rough. He wondered if this was how Marlene had felt when he kissed her. He wondered if this was what Stained Glass Scarlet had craved. He moved his own hand up beneath the back of the other man's shirt and felt a spiderweb of scarring beneath his fingers. Some felt surgical in their precision, others were the starburst pattern that he recognized as being made by a bullet. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine the map it would form. The cartography of another person's body - all unknown waters. All impossible to memorize so quickly.

  
"Here there be dragons," he snarked as he felt the gentle pressure of teeth pressing into his shoulder. His breath caught in his throat. He spread his legs ever so slightly, and he felt the thick muscle of the other man's thigh slide between his own. It was a hard pressure, a rougher nudge up to the junction of his legs that drew a low groan. It wasn't enough to push him away, but it was enough to urge his nails to dig in between the other man's shouldrblades. Thicker scars, rougher skin. He wasn't used to this. He wondered if he _could_ get used to this.

"You like that?" The question was a low hoarse whisper, and for a second Marc thought it was Jake asking it in the back of his mind. He blinked, but then inclined his head in a small nod as he brought his nails down in a drag along the other man's spine.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. This was Clint Barton, a man he'd been at odds with for the better part of his life. He was an authority figure that he had bucked against, a voice bereft of reason when reason was needed most. He was the immovable object that had lead to him leaving the team, striking out on his own. He was an agent of Khonshu unknowingly, a pawn in the game that the bird had laid out for his life all those years ago. A pawn, but a pawn whose hand now moved up his body, fingertips pressing into old bruises and drawing a growling moan from his throat that he didn't know existed.

He swallowed, and felt his adam's apple jump. He dug his short nails into the back of Clint's neck, but all words were soon silenced as the archer's lips met his own. The kiss was hungry and brooked no argument. The kiss was forceful, as was the knee that pressed up once more and received a throatier response. The voices in his head were silent, but his cheeks were on fire, his blood was on fire. This was not the cold sterility of moonlight, but rather the quicksilver edge of a knife. He bit the other man's bottom lip, and traced his tongue over it before parting his own to allow for a deeper intrusion. 

This was instinct, animal and simple. This made no sense, but it didn't need to when he wanted it so badly. He lowered his hand to the curve of Clint's ass and gave a rough squeeze to urge him closer. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was needed. This didn't have to mean anything, nor did it have to be questioned. It just was.

Marc had wanted to blame Jake for it, but on second thought he might have to thank him instead.


End file.
